I slapped my right hand down over Penelope’s mouth, thumb under her chin to shove and tilt her head back across the neck roll she used instead of a pillow. The wet coughing gurgles got louder for a moment as I yanked the knife up and the arterial blood not flooding her lungs spurted higher in a pulsing jet. I let go of Penelope’s head when her eyes stopped moving, her stare at the ceiling fixed and her pupils so dilated there was no brown visible.. I moved quietly to my wife at the left side of the bed and gently pulled down the single sheet she was sleeping under. I knew I was watching this woman I had once loved die by my hand, the emotional rush making me dizzy. Penelope’s scream was muffled by my palm, not even as loud as the audible hiss of air from the growing wound. I covered her the wound again, fingers digging into her slippery neck and bloody froth leaking out my palm.
